


Long Way Home

by Rider_of_Spades



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), F/M, Family, Fluff and Angst, Growing Old Together, Happy Ending, M/M, Mother-Son Relationship, Old Age
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-24
Updated: 2015-06-05
Packaged: 2018-04-01 00:50:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3999637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rider_of_Spades/pseuds/Rider_of_Spades
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It wasn’t every day you woke up to your mother sitting across from you, preoccupied with the pictures that lined your dresser. Especially not looking a day over thirty five when she’d already been dead for as many years.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fifteen Winters

**Author's Note:**

> This is actually something I'd written long, LONG ago, but I thought, "F**k it"; might as well post it up. Since it's still one of my favourites.
> 
> WARNING: Contains swearing and mildly graphic elements of gore.
> 
> Theme song: Cloud Atlas “Sextet” (Piano instrumental)

_Dame tu mano Paloma (Give me your hand, dove)_

_Para subir a tu nido (So I can climb to your nest)_

_Maldicha que duermes sola (You’re unlucky to sleep alone :)_

_Vengo a dormir contigo_ _(I’ll come to sleep with you.)_

-“En La Mar”, Cécile Corbel

 

The minute he stirred and slid open bleary eyes, his Hyper Intuition screamed of something being drastically different.

 

Not that he needed the heads up. It wasn’t every day you woke up to your mother sitting across from you, preoccupied with the pictures that lined your dresser. Especially not looking a day over thirty five when she’d already been dead for as many years.

 

He was certain he was supposed to shout, jump out of bed, question his sanity or check his medications, and not feel this nostalgia. Except he was no longer at an age for any shouting and jumping, and he was absolutely positive that taking Isoptin with coffee didn’t give you hallucinations. That, and the fact seven decades of his friends hadn’t quite driven him into senility. Yet.

 

Besides, he’d heard that some people don’t live that long after their spouses die. And it had already been fifteen winters.

 

So he sat up carefully and greeted his mother politely like he’d been brought up to (which, he’d conveniently forgot, in much of his teenage years). And he asked, “Is it time yet?” like they’re only going for a walk and she got up earlier.

 

And she said, “No, we have a few more hours.”

 

So he did the next proper thing you do when you have a guest: he apologised for his state of déshabilléand seated her in the living room, while he washed himself and set out breakfast.

 

(And somewhere in the middle of gargling, he stopped to look for that faded ring of an extra cup on the sink, but there’s not a trace left. It had been fifteen winters.)

 

Odd how the details came back to you so quickly sometimes, even when they’ve not been put to use for years. How, the more you wore time on your flesh, the more it flirted with your consciousness. You could forget your shopping list on the way to the store, what you said to your son over the phone, but you’d remember how much vinegar your mother likes in her tamagoyaki, her favourite brand of natto. You could remember noting and learning these little things, one by one, afraid of being unable to master it all within the rapidly disintegrating months of her clock. 

 

(You remembered her holding you to her breast for comfort, remembered lying on another flatter, broader and healthier chest for comfort.)

 

He sighed as he added the miso. This morning, it seemed, was made for remembrance.

…….

 

Apparently, she must not be able to see him wherever she was; their eating was seasoned with questions. How were the children? Had his son married yet? She squealed in delight as he told of weddings and births, laughed when he mentioned Gokudera’s temper–the separations and “unexplained disappearances” had no place in their conversation. He, too, asked her, though he was careful never to broach on the subject of what awaited him, lest he broke some taboo. Did Yamamoto manage to locate his father and Squalo? What about Oto-san, Bianchi and Haru? Were they still the same? They went through a whole list of names, and moved to the couch later for photos, but he never mentioned Xanxus.

 

(There was no need to anyway; he was always there between them, in Nana’s searching gaze and behind Tsuna’s every word.)

 

……………….

 

_They were going to re-pot some of the herbs today._

_Instead, he returned home with the pots, mildly annoyed at Xanxus kicking off his shoes and leaving them as they were again._

_But he was determined not to chide him or feel upset. They were going to re-pot the herbs, have dinner at that new restaurant, and visit Uni for her grandchild’s birthday next week. He’d been thinking of gifting the fiorellino with a furisode, in a shade that should compliment her blonde hair and oceanic eyes beautifully._

_Then he spotted the bills strewn across the kitchen table and frowned._

_That’s when he saw the supine body._

…………

_He still recalled clearly how awkward it was the first time his mother met Xanxus._

_Never had he been so keenly, suddenly aware as he was then, of how tall and buff Xanxus was, how intimidating he could seem. He’d also completely forgotten the kind of fear those scars and unholy eyes could instil in others, how easy it could be to interpret hostility in that unsmiling face. The cheerful, petite lady next to him couldn’t have been a greater difference._

_The contrast must’ve been just as uncomfortable for his partner too, if the expressionless stiffness was any indication. In fact…..even his jaw muscles and right eyelid were twitching minutely from sheer discomfort._

_Tsuna thought he’d never seen anything more adorable._

_(Alright, puppies and non-gun-toting babies were, but this was_ Xanxus.)

 

_(If only he could take a shot and frame it. He would find a secret niche for it in his albums.)_

_Luckily, Sawada Nana seemed to think him cute too, as she pulled his hand and exclaimed happily, the suddenness making Xanxus yelp. (Or, as he would later insist, produce a sound that could be mistaken for a yelp. Either way Tsuna still had to stifle a laugh.)_

_So it wasn’t the chaotic ambulance ride, the overwhelming tide of incomprehensible medical jargon, or the long wait that broke his calm. It was the lightness of the hand in his grasp post-surgery, the memory of how large and heavy it was in his mother’s, and the revelation of how it was_ not this time, _not_ now (not yet) _that finally extricated his sobs._

……….

 

Like _every other parent, child, sibling, friend or spouse that’d discovered mortality, he became a lot more careful with the volatile man after._

_But this was Xanxus they were talking about, who of course did not let him. It wasn’t one of their full-blown arguments, but it was no discussion either. There was certainly no compromise in the Varia retiree’s tone when he mentioned not being phony or treating him like some invalid shit, and if that didn’t get the message across there was still his flinty countenance._

_And the seasons Tsuna had spent decoding Xanxus, which tell him: I want your scratchy hair, your undiscriminating concern for others and your overthinking. I want your prudishness, your liver spots and hyper-reactivity._

_I want everything._

_Tsuna just kept silent and listened, to both the icy rant and the unspoken. When Xanxus was done lecturing, he smiled and drew the man into his arms._

_(And perhaps his fingernails dug a little too tightly into the solid back; he drew breath a little too long from where his temple rested in Xanxus’s shirt._

_In any case, this was as good an occasion as any for the embraced man to feign ignorance.)_

_…………._

They didn’t exactly run out of things to say–there was thirty-five years’ worth to catch up on–but it was one of those lulls in their chatter when Nana pulled out a curious little sundial from her dress and declared, “Oh my, look at the time! We must get going.”

 

Tsuna didn’t bother to remark on what he hadn’t mentioned earlier as he gathered his cane. Those extra minutes he took to bend down and tie his shoes would give him away anyway.

 

 “It’s the kneecap, isn’t it.”

 

He nodded, standing. There was no “It’s fine; I’ll be good,” on his lips, no further invitation for unwanted pity. Instead, the words sounded in the gentle tap of his cane as he opened the door and gestured into the last vestiges of spring.

 

…..

 _The Varia patch must’ve ripped off mid-delivery (such inefficiency), and they’d misspelled ‘Xanxus’. They weren’t small-fry though, not even the best of those could kidnap the Varia head_ and _challenge the Vongola. On that last, the note had been crystal._

_And if it wasn’t, the hoarse curses and snarling screams rattling their sound system also sufficed._

_Tsuna never thought he would ever see the Varia and his guardians populate the same room quietly. Neither had he imagined Gokudera feeling anything close to empathy for Xanxus. That might be due to the sight of flesh though, all vivid, pockmarked and exposed, flashing large over the screen under a combination of sandpaper and glass dust. Which was not unlike the acid burns the Storm had acquired over his forearm a year ago._

_Another enraged, wet howl was cut off. Reborn’s face was as unaffected as ever even though he was the one who clicked the remote._

_(But not Lambo’s, Tsuna realised. For him, shock, nausea and horror had gone to war. And there was a very miniscule but present grain to smile about there; just, not right now._

_Not right after he’d watched the video, and was still holding onto its main star’s bloody coat.)_

_And the cold, aftershock-silence was precisely what gave him the right amount of reprieve to be sure –he wasn’t angry._

_He was_ livid.

_Maple eyes closed, opened. Turned back to Sawada Tsunayoshi’s, the man who moved his fists as if in prayer._

_“What do we know of this new famiglia, Yamamoto?” He picked up his teacup, and the collective tension dissolved._

_The mentioned man blinked but recovered the fastest. “It seems they’ve been setting up shop in the coastal cities. Drugs and money laundering, mostly. And children.” He winced. “Genoa’s the main base, but the officials of its neighbours have been rather receptive to greasing in recent years.” Squalo sneered; a sharp look from Reborn killed off the retort. “Savona and La Spezia are practically in their hands now.”_

_“I see. Send word to Mukuro requesting his speediest return._ _Squalo, I’ll need you to marshal your men from the nearest areas, have them checked into nearby towns and shanties as discreetly as possible. Gokudera-kun, Chrome, please assist him in coordinating the information._ Every _scrap of intelligence you can find on their operations; the exact establishments, amount of manpower for each and blueprints of their layouts, everything you can find._

_I want the stats the day after, by three o’ clock.”_

_Some sat, stunned. A few fidgeted in discomfort. Those orders had not implied a physical assault. A shortage of manpower, a famiglia could recover from, so long as it did not involve the utter elimination of its core. But targeting the economic lifeblood of a small-sized famiglia, one with no powerhouses among its allies, could very well spell its annihilation. After all, it was the guns and bread that built empires. And in the whole of Tsuna’s pre-induction, one-year rule, the heir had always taken pains to avoid such confrontations –it didn’t exactly bode well for external relations if you were perceived as oppressive and arrogant._

_Until now._

_“About time you woke up, baka-Tsuna.”_

_A mirthless smile arose at that nostalgic moniker. “On the contrary, Reborn._

_I was only hoping to stay away from this course as long as possible.”_

_Because he wasn’t stupid, or naïve either. Sawada Tsunayoshi might move his fists as if in prayer, but the child who was adamant about keeping his hands clean was gone._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Isoptin: hypertension medicine.
> 
> 2\. Tamagoyaki: a type of Japanese omelette
> 
> 3\. Miso: a kind of seasoning. Usually added in soups after they're cooked to preserve the live cultures.
> 
> 4\. Fiorellino: An Italian endearment, means "little flower".
> 
> 5\. Furisode: a formal style of kimono worn by unmarried women.
> 
>  
> 
> In my headcanon, Vongola's heirs traditionally undergo a prelim, one-year rule before they are officially installed as dons. It's an evaluative measure that also aids the candidates in gaining experience.


	2. Up and Down, Round and Round

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, everyone, sorry for the delay. It's been hectic, what with the house-hunting and final assignments. So, without further ado:

_It’s not what you’d call a Pyrrhic victory. Even with Xanxus as their bargaining chip, there was too vast a gap in technology and human resources. But being abruptly cornered by feeds of his businesses burning while legendary assassins surrounded the building could leave a man too desperate. Too ready to pull you down along with him. So these sort of standoffs might be better made for the movies, and yet._

 

_(And yet, Tsuna did not dodge his last lunge in time, despite the two-second warning from his Hyper Intuition.)_

 

_But what injured him more, as he and an unconscious Xanxus were whisked away, were the flashes of twisted hatred on their defeated faces, his own corrosive weariness. Maybe they never did understand whom they tried to take on, just as he himself cannot truly guess at the pain wrought by his judgement._

 

 _Too late now. Everything had just started._

 

……..

 

_In the weeks ahead, the Vongola would have their hands full with strained inter-famiglia connections; at the moment they were more preoccupied with their bosses’ predicaments._

 

_Xanxus was severely dehydrated, with a broken nose, rope burns and a dire need for skin grafts over some areas. Tsuna was diagnosed with a busted kneecap that may affect his mobility–permanently._

 

_The Varia head, of course, did not find out. Until after he gained consciousness, until after he could walk. Until, on the day he was discharged, the well-meaning nurse asked if he would like to see his friend, who was still doing physiotherapy._

 

 _Xanxus screamed at him,_ why.

 

_Tsuna, battered and sweaty and torn, still answered._

 

Because you matter.

 

Never think that you don’t matter to me. Or your father.

 

_Xanxus shouted, swore up a storm and stormed out._

 

_(Which was why Tsuna did not question why he suddenly found himself aboard a plane to Alabama for a mysteriously-financed meeting with one of the world’s best orthopaedic surgeons.)_

 

……….

 

_And still they did not occur, not right after._

 

_When Tsuna hit his twenties the next summer, dressed to the nines for the official Inheritance Ceremony, Xanxus was still resentful but calm._

 

_(and did not love him)_

 

_When Tsuna was twenty-two, having truly grown into his role, Xanxus began noticing everything those earliest impressions of fear and incompetence had drowned. The don would be nearing twenty-three before they started dating (because Tsuna refused to be a fuck-buddy, and it took Xanxus four months to even admit he felt anything). He was twenty-five when they moved in together, and by then questioning the man’s intentions no longer seemed to make sense._

 

_Thing is, after that they’d gotten comfortable. Just because he knew things like what Xanxus preferred to eat, what he always read first in the papers and how he arranged his clothes, Tsuna forgot that he did not know everything, could not presume everything about him. Xanxus never did forget; he didn’t have that kind of luxury, but he made up with the lack of communication._

 

_And it was always the Vongola or Varia first; they were leaders before lovers. Which wasn’t bad essentially, except they were disappearing from each other’s schedules: dinners, conversations, outings, sparring, post-it notes…….from a river, to a stream, to a trickle._

 

_A period._

 

_Like everything that could be looked forward to had already been plundered._

 

_Somewhere between their fifth big row and his first night back at the Vongola mansion, Tsuna packed up his toothbrush or clothes, and they did not return with him the next morning._

 

_(And that flow of things, to the HQ from their apartment, certainly did not stay a trickle.)_

 

………

 

_Ironically, it took the most vehement supporter of their separation to bring him to his senses._

 

_Tsuna was lunching while listening to Gokudera rationalise his leaving Xanxus. He supposed this was to make him feel better, since he didn’t, even though it wasn’t technically his fault. The man wasn’t even listening to reason anymore._

 

_Which didn’t mean he felt them fitting though, the words that leapt brilliantly stinging from the voice of his Storm. They were truthful: arrogant, demanding, bad-tempered, alcoholic ...his astute friend did not miss a single one of them. But there was something implacably wrong, something about balancing these labels with the image of Xanxus in his head that, that,_

 

hurt.

 

_He breathed through his nose, and the moment for sighing went, un-expelled._

 

_Then his throat closed, but this was not the place, dammit, nor the right person. And he was the Vongola Don, tearing up at the wrong occasion could have far-reaching consequences._

 

_So he summoned enough willpower to excuse himself, and only let flow the tears in the safety of privacy. And here was his chance to be free, to be angry, to be irrational and selfish, so he clenched his fists, screams gritted behind his teeth, and punched the wall._

 

_Why? Why? Why?_

 

 _Why did it have to be like this? Was this all there was to them after all? All they could ever be? Hadn’t they_ promised _, noiselessly, that it wouldn’t be them, not this, not something so horribly petty and common when they’d been through so much more? And_ why _, when it hadn’t started easy for them, when it had demanded so much courage and so much work?_

 

 _Surely it wasn’t the shortage of_ want _. Even now, he still had enough of that left over in him to feel empty and sore._

 

_And he was tired already, was since long ago, but not yet ready for this. He still can’t fit himself into this new universe, forget Xanxus’s name ever meant anything but business. The worst part had to be how he wasn’t even sure he wanted to move on, to try and look back at those glances and roundabout words, the wary, restrained touches, as if they weren’t ever important at all. The little things that were not there but were there because of his Hyper Intuition, that had built their thirty-seven months. They now ran his nights ragged and froze his appetite, and still, it’s their sanctity he recalled. He knew it was pure, stubborn foolishness, paid for it bitterly, and still, some part of him held on._

 

So why can’t you?

 

_Sienna eyes turned inwards._

 

Don’t be stupid. It’s over.

 

Why can’t you? _An internal voice insisted._

 

 _Frustration lashed out._ That’s stupid! Because, because–

 

_Then it hit: there was no reason it had to be._

 

_Because if the rumours of Xanxus’s increased alcohol consumption was true, neither of them could be satisfied with ending it like this. He had merely assumed there could be no starting over; he had gotten it wrong._

 

_And that was where Gokudera’s words had hurt: they were unfair just as they were truthful. They encompassed one side of his lover, when his memories reminded him of so much more. Of Xanxus, frugal; Xanxus, a resigned realist; Xanxus, grudgingly, bitingly gentle; Xanxus, earth-shatteringly, angrily vulnerable._

 

 

Xanxus.

 

 _His calves flexed, willing him to go to where the man was but it’s too much; he was simultaneously exhilarated and_ exhausted _._

 

_He walked out of that bathroom composed, bruised knuckles in his pocket; it’s only later in the car, once the partition goes up that he slumped against Gokudera’s shoulder._

 

_“Gokudera-kun?” “Yes?” “Thank you.” The silver-haired man raised his eyebrow._

 

_“Anytime, Jyuudaime, anytime.”_

 

 _(And it took a day more of careful planning before he winded up in front of that familiar door, but their world had reset in that instant.)_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sienna: a type of brown. Tsuna's eyes are a shade called 'raw sienna'. 
> 
>  
> 
> (Must be really handy to have Hyper Intuition as your relationship counsellor, lol. ;D)


	3. Goodbye (Hello)

It was a little hard to accept, a little amusing to recollect now, the kind of significances that had driven all that passion and turmoil. He used to daydream of this kind of peace and routine stability then. A few hours to himself, so he could wake up like he had all the time in the world. To be able to get used to that feeling. He’d looked forward to that; assumed it would be bliss.

 

And it was, he guessed. It had been restful, and he had been content. He was deeply glad nonetheless, for his young, pre-cancer mother walking in front; no shadow beneath her silhouette.

 

He was done with having all the time in the world.

 

……….

 

_They didn’t always have time for each other. Sometimes, they were so busy they just fell asleep beside the other as soon as they got home, without a word. But somewhere in the night they’d reach for each other, somehow, and from there a leg will curl over and a body will bend, so that by morning they’d wake up intertwined; one big and cosy jumble._

 

_And they still argued. Snits. Tiny cold wars strewn, over trivial things like tie colours and handwritten reports. Incredibly angry fights; destruction of expensive furniture even when they brought their disagreements from work home. And Xanxus would go out for an angry drive, leaving Tsuna to fix and eat dinner alone, but not before the latter called someone first to put up a roadblock –near a bar or hotel, where his partner could spend the night safer. And Xanxus, drunk and reeking of booze, might find it occasionally in his imbibed mind to break into a greenhouse or uproot someone’s garden, so that when Tsuna woke up there’d be his favourite blossoms scattered all over the floor, along with dirt and a snoring Xanxus. And he would sigh as he got up, four hours before his partner would, to fresh coffee, aspirin and a vase full of now properly-arranged crocuses._

 

_Strangely enough, there was no need to ask for forgiveness._

 

…….

 

_And there were days when Xanxus came home perfectly spotless, but the reports preceding him overflowed with blood._

 

_He would walk up those steps, aura and expression embodying exactly what everyone feared. Because, they whispered, between their cups of espressos and behind closed doors, when things came down to it, wasn’t that what he was? A monster?_

 

 _Sure, he was good-looking; intelligent; he had a charm of his own–if you’d the taste for that sort. But this was the_ Varia _, who killed and tortured men like so many cockroaches. Who’d tried to upturn the Vongola and exterminate the current Generation._

 

 _He was_ Xanxus.

 

_Which neither the two subjects of the speculation cared for. The assassin knew what he was to Tsunayoshi; he didn’t need to listen to these gossiping hypocrites._

 

 _And yes, he_ enjoyed _killing lesser shits. He tasted thrill at their screams, loved the rush of bashing their skulls in. He never spared any attention to their final, pathetic pleas (_ lies _) of family as he punished those who’d dared cross his (these men who kept fathering unwanted children, unwanted). In their world, vendetta was law, and it wasn’t as if any of them were saints to begin with. Not even his pristine, morally-integral lover was exempt._

 

 _So he was a monster. Big, fuckin’_ deal.

 

_Which didn’t justify how his muscles tightened up, and all killing intent escaped him when Tsunayoshi’s scrutiny greeted him at the doorstep, even though he gave nary a flinch._

 

 _He also didn’t get why his mouth would flood with meaningless words, but they were never said and so_ didn’t exist _, even if he had to choke to death on them._

 

(I’m sorry you have to live with this.)

 

_He didn’t need them, because they were also in Tsunayoshi’s eyes as well, and the taut shape of his jaw._

 

(I’m sorry I couldn’t be strong enough, good enough to stop needing you for this.)

 

_At times like this, he'd almost want to laugh, despite the situation’s seriousness. Because weren’t they just the perfect pair of idiots?_

 

……….

 

 _They retired concurrently; Xanxus as he finally acquired reading glasses and Tsuna a few months after. They’d already elected to settle into their Pienza vacation home, leaving everything to charity and their only child, save the farewell gifts and a few priceless mementoes. Xanxus was stretching out his kinks, and Tsuna arranging Bertrando’s old Father’s Day cards on the fridge–the men had just moved in their new (cheaper) furniture–when he heard, “You know, you_ really _gotta wonder how in the fuck we managed to get here.”_

 

_The younger (not young, but younger) man snorted and continued to decorate; a softer, brightened cast to his face._

 

……….

 

“I don’t, actually, hah; hav’t’ _jump_ , d-do I?” Tsuna panted, eyeing the side of the hill with no small apprehension.

 

Nana laughed. “No, Tsu-kun! Just…come over here. Sit.” They sat at the foot of a tree some ways from the edge; the scent of early poppies tentative in the sleepy breeze. “It should be any minute now. But don’t be afraid, ok? Kaasan’s here,” she whispered, smoothing his hair which, thinning and grey-shot white as it was, still sprung up everywhere. Tsuna tried to nod, but was stopped by a twinge in his chest. Of course, the long walk and climb. How fitting he should re-join his significant other by dying the same way.

 

And maybe, because this was as close as he’d ever felt to Xanxus in fifteen years, he finally asked, “How…is he?” and dared turn hopeful eyes to his mother.

 

Who hesitated. Never had his mother’s gentleness filled him with such apprehension, as it did now. Because Xanxus might not be the best person; he’s no hero or martyr, but it isn’t _fair_ , it’s isn’t; hasn’t he been trying hard enough for nearly _fifty years?_

 

“No, Kami, please, no, that’s not _right_ –” He gripped her forearm, suddenly stronger than a frail old man.

 

“Shh, shh; it’s alright, Tsu-kun.” She soothes him hurriedly, thumbs brushing over leathery cheeks. “He’s there, waiting. He just wanted me to tell you he’s sorry it took so long to come and get you.”

 

As it turned out, it had been two thousand years there; two thousand years Xanxus spent settling his part of the agreement. Fifteen years in which Tsuna bided, stranded on the human plane, when he could’ve departed a decade before. All for the impetuous desires of an enfant terrible, who’d practically _demanded_ the Powers That Be arrange for him to be there when Tsuna arrived, so he could locate him in the billions of souls, in exchange for two thousand years of labour.

 

(And Tsuna laughed, somewhat choked; that selfish, selfish _bastard_.)

 

…..

 

_For all Tsuna’s medical training, for all the death they’d witnessed, neither of them were ready (and maybe they were never meant to be)._

 

_This was the third time his heart did its stop-start, the third time it lost its rhythm. And it did that while Xanxus was shaving, so Tsuna came hobbling to the sound of his electric shaver cracking against the sink._

 

_They’d rehearsed this scenario so many times that Tsuna went into auto-pilot. His fingers were rock-steady as he dialled; he was mechanical as he listed the medicines. As he held Xanxus’s hand in the ambulance, he was the very picture of collectedness._

 

_In fact, he couldn’t understand why the doctor’s face was so grim, as well as the nurse’s. They’d been through this already, hadn’t they? Twice. He was to sleep over for the next few days, and when Xanxus checked out they’d visit the pier again. And the crocuses would be in full bloom next month._

 

 _And he still wanted to eat Xanxus’s awful cooking, to feel his uncomfortably stale breath down the side of his throat. He still wanted to watch mote-filled sunbeams squeeze into his wrinkles and turn into shadow. He still wanted to argue about tired, old topics, to discuss groceries and bills; he found himself suddenly_ craving _everything you needed someone else with the same nostalgia in their eyes to do._

 

_(And to go to that place they hadn’t arrived at yet, where they would have discovered everything about life and each other and grown bored, but there’s a lovely warmth and rightness in their home to want.)_

 

_It was not despair that pushed him to weep himself raw, or hold that hand and press his raining face on that forehead, still-warm. It was yearning._

 

……..

 

_It would always hurt this way. Nothing could remedy the fact he was gone._

 

_But Tsuna limped, oh so terribly, and wore extra layers during winter for his aching bones. And he has a huge collection of photo albums in his attic, so thick and dusty he doesn’t quite move them or look at them anymore. Whenever he does, it would strike him: he’s old. So were his surviving friends; so were some of the others when they went._

 

_So was Xanxus._

 

 _And he still had the mental faculties to remember, the sunset on his young, handsome face; the sunrise on his old, handsome one. The increasing candles on both their birthdays; the mild, dear softness that appeared on Xanxus’s gut, somewhere in the middle of all Tsuna’s hugs. The gazillion of days they’d had and the events in them; with their friends and them two; with their families and them two; and just the two of them. Then all he could say or feel over and over again is_ thank you _._

 

Thank you for giving me all of this, for all of them.

 

For letting me keep him, for the both of us.

 

Thank you.

 

………..

 

This was what ran through his mind too, as he was swept into oblivion. _Thank you._

 

……..

 

_He’d heard that some people didn’t live that long after their spouses die, but it had been fifteen winters._

 

_He was also a little dazed at how much photos could lie after too much sunlight and years. How loud his father and Squalo had been, how vibrantly pretty Haru and I-Pin once were. How free Yamamoto’s laughter._

 

_Most of all, it was just the sight of Xanxus, straight out of their Spanish wedding, that had him so squeezed his arteries could burst._

 

_But they didn’t, and neither did his steps creak, and he was clothed in white again with a sense of wholeness as he approached his waiting family and lover._

 

_......._

 

The End (Hello again.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Pienza: a town in Tuscany and a UNESCO World Heritage Site.
> 
> 2\. Bertrando: X27's son in this story. His name means "wise raven".
> 
> 3\. Poppies: associated with eternal sleep, dreams, consolation, remembrance and resurrection.
> 
>  
> 
> Basically, "those who dared cross his" means those who'd dare harm his Famiglia. To Xanxus, his Famiglia IS his family, in both senses of the word (especially since Tsuna became his husband). I also see him as someone with a lot of issues. Which is why he considers all his victims' pleas of family as lies...because to him, they're also unfaithful, irresponsible men who keep fathering unwanted, bastard children and abandoning them. EVERY single one of those men.
> 
> [This is my headcanon for him in this AU -that he IS actually tied to the Vongola Secondo, through some distantly-related mafioso who kept his mother as a mistress for some time before dumping her. So he's always been born into the mafia, but...boy, does he have a lot of baggage from the word 'father'.]
> 
> (might explain why he over-reacted at discovering he was unrelated to Timoteo too; this man whom he'd realised wasn't his father, but whom he'd hoped was an uncle, grandfather; anything, anything...but was NOTHING.)
> 
> (lies lies lies lies)
> 
> (including his dreams; all his dreams hung up on this sonuvabitch, lying old man's promises, his sweat and blood and -all LIES.)
> 
> ...Yup yup. That basically sums up his psyche -at least, from one point of view. Many ways of portraying this guy.


End file.
